Little Games
by RiverGray
Summary: Because she needed order to keep her sane, and he was like poison to her system. The shadows of the past will always stretch back far enough to catch you. Annabeth x Percy. Rated T for dark themes.
1. And In The End

**A/N - Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any characters in here from the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus series'. If there are any words in here that aren't proper words when you type them into Microsoft Word, then it's intentional. If you read on, you might get why. If it's totally out-of-wack, however, then it's unintentional and a typo, or a mistake on my part during the not-so-thorough editing process. Warning: It WILL get a little creepy somewhere soon. Like, in consecutive chapters. If I get around to writing them.**

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Red.

_Red, red, red._

_It was everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on the windows._

_On his hands._

_He looked away. Walked away._

_Walked onwards._

Warm.

_It was warm._

_He wriggled his fingers a little and looked at them again. _

_Warm. _

_A little bit sticky._

_He kept walking, a little faster; a little faster this time._

Wet.

_It was wet._

_He watched with a kind of morbid fascination as he came across a woman, sleeping on the floor. Red, red, painted all over her clothes. Her eyes were open, wide and unseeing, staring emptily into the sky._

Sky.

The sky.

_Something was wrong. Something told him that there was a big 'something wrong'._

_He shook the thought away and looked up too. _

_There was no sky to see. Only the ceiling, white and grey. There were cracks, spider-webbing cracks all over the ceiling plaster. The lights were cracked too. Glass littered the red-grey floor. The fan, covered in dust and grime, more grey than white. And something else... something else hanging from the fan._

_An alarm in his head started pinging like no tomorrow, but he ignored it and smiled, happy at last._

_Oblivion is bliss._

_Or so they say._

_'Dad?' he said, and then, with more conviction, 'Dad! Did you decide to repaint the house? Why didn't you ask me, first? Red isn't a very nice colour you know. I would have chosen blue. Blue and black and green; the colour of drowning. Don't you think my idea is better, Dad? Aren't my ideas always better, Dad?'_

_He frowny-smiled and looked expectantly at his father._

_His father's wild green eyes stared back._

_Silence._

_He looked down at the woman on the floor, and then back up again._

_'Did Mom fall asleep when you were painting? It must have been very tiring. She must have gotten really tired. She even forgot to close her eyes! And you can't have been painting properly; she's got red paint all over her. Paint goes on the walls Dad. Mom must be tired. So tired._'

_Silence again._

_He was starting to get upset now._

_'Dad!' he cried, 'Dad? Why won't you talk to me?'_

_He snapped his fingers under his father's nose, only for his father to turn slowly away._

_He blinked in surprise._

_'Dad?'_

_His eyes travelled up, down; trying to find out what was wrong. His father spun slowly back to face him and he clapped in delight._

_Something was wrong._

_He didn't care._

_'Oh!' he exclaimed, happy again, 'You were waiting for me to notice your new necklace! Well, I like it very, very much. It's a little bit thick though, isn't it? Be careful it doesn't choke you.'_

_He laughed, 'Be careful it doesn't…'_

_RED!_

_RED!_

_RED!_

_The sirens went off in his head and his eyes went wide with realisation as he clicked back into reality because he couldn't ignore them anymore and..._

_'… choke you,' he finished._

_Wrong._

_Something was wrong._

_This was bad._

_And then he screamed, 'No…NO! Mom! Dad! Wake up! Wake UP!'_

_He stood, eyes glazed over and yet focused at the same time; frozen as the silence filled the house; broken as he realised what had happened, or, rather, the ends of what had happened._

_'The ends justifies the means,' he muttered._

_But what means?_

_And then, suddenly, everything seemed to overwhelm him and he was crying and screaming and pulling at the cold, cold hands of his beloved parents until…_

Black.

Black, black, black.

And then everything faded into black.

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**A/N - So... how was that? Like it? Hate it? Don't really get what I'm yabbering on about? Follow, favourite and review!**

**Mischief by Moonlight.**


	2. The First Player

**A/N - I know the Prologue was really weird, but bear with me! Another chapter or so, and things will start to get interesting. Right now, I'm mainly focussing on not sounding shallow. Because depressing and deep only works with one-shots. For me, anyway.**

**I don't own any characters in this chapter, asid from the teacher, but he hasn't got a name, so there's not much point in saying that.**

**So.. that's all I have to say (for now). Read and review!**

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_Have you ever been a wanted man?_

_Always on the run; head constantly turning to look over your shoulder._

_Waking up each morning, not knowing if you'll greet tomorrow behind barred windows._

_I passed by the local park today, and there were a group of children, screaming and laughing and running away from each other. Playing Cops & Robbers. _

_I can't help but find that fact horribly amusing._

_Because there will always be the good guys who fight for the wrong side._

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Miss Annabeth Chase was bored.

She looked over her notes one more time, then rearranged them into order by colour, then by subtopic, alphabetically of course, then by date, then by length of topic, shortest to longest, and then by colour again. She shifted impatiently in her seat, and placed the notes in the upper right-hand corner of her desk, making sure the edges of the cards lined up perfectly with the edges of the table.

The teacher was still talking, droning on and on and _on_ about some mathematical concept Annabeth had perfected a year ago.

First lesson of the day.

She _so_ didn't need this.

"...and, so, we can find the ratio of criminals to policemen by applying algebra. We do not know the amount of..."

She clicked her tongue softly with impatience and slid her English folder out from her subject binder. Her speech on games was due next week; why not read over her final version now?

Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, she took out her palm cards and began to read.

_In this day and age, games are create by people as a form of entertainment. Game forms can vary, from board games such as Scrabble and checkers, to video games, which can be played through Nitendo Wii consoles, Xbox 360's, etc, etc. There are also 'physical' games, mainly played by young children, like Tip, Hide-and-Seek or Cops & Robbers. _

_Games can also be certain types of sport. Whilst 'sports' are classified as such, they are sure to have evolved from being some form of entertainment, or a 'game'. For example - soccer. Before it was a registered and official sport, it was played by children for many hundreds of years, wherever and whenever they could find or make a round object, or 'ball'. Only recently in the large scheme of things, has 'soccer' become a sport that adults can play for a living..._

Annabeth frowned and, digging out a pen from her pencilcase, wrote a decisive 'P' after the sentence. It was always good to place marks for dramatisation and such, though it wasn't particularly necessary. If anything, Annabeth prided herself on her flawless rhetoric.

She flipped through a dozen or so more cards, similarly marking and editing each one.

_...However, it is possible that they were once a form of teaching children necessary life skills. Has anyone ever noticed that the Latin word for 'school' means 'play'? Games such as Tip could once have been used to allow children to practise running in case they ever found themselves facing a predator. Truth or Dare may have evolved from a game used to test courage, and _-

"Miss Chase?" the teacher said, drawing her attention from her meticulous editing.

She looked up, rearranging her expression into anything, so long as it was as far from guilty-looking as possible.

"Yes sir?" she asked, the perfect picture of politeness.

The teacher scowled, "Would you care to solve the question written on the board?"

Annabeth looked at him, all totally wide-eyed and guileless, and then at the question. Easy as pie; she could do the whole thing in her head.

"The ratio is 52:7, which means the police are horribly outnumbered, sir," she said.

The teacher scowled again. Evidently, he was used to catching students out and had had a speech prepared for her 'miserable lack of attention'.

"Quite correct," he said, giving her the evil eye. She smiled beautifically at him in return.

She was going to have to work on not getting caught.

Sighing as he turned away, Annabeth shuffled her palm cards back into the correct order and slid them back into her English folder. A glanc at the clock told her that there were still twnety-five minutes to go before the lesson ended.

The teacher had resumed his prattling, and she turned her attention back to the note cards on her desk. Colour order, alphabetical order, date order, length order.

It was going to be a long twenty-five minutes.

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**A/N - So, that was a little short. I think. I'm not really that sure. Don't worry, Percy will come into this thing soon(er or later). Read and review!**


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